


My Kingdom for a Yacht

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Series: Oneshot Collection [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Everlark Birthday Drabbles, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Mild Language, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 21:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12066918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: No job. No boyfriend. And no excuses to give to her gold digging Aunt Effie, Katniss convinces her best friend to play her boyfriend for a relaxing weekend on the lake. It's only one weekend, after all...Written for Everlark Birthday Drabbles on tumblr and gifted to ishy-fish. ;-)





	My Kingdom for a Yacht

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ishyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishyfish/gifts).



“Out of the sweats, Everdeen,” Peeta announces when I open my door. I can’t help the scowl on my face as he leans on the door jamb. “I’ll wait right here if you want, but I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer.”

 

“You’re an asshole,” I say, slamming the door in his perfect smiling face.

 

“Just swap out the sweats for jeans and you’ll be good to go,” he calls through my door, and I roll my eyes, but I’m already shimmying out of my sweat pants. He’s got a key to the door and will let himself in after a brief wait. Only reason he bothers to knock anymore is as a courtesy, even though I’ve told him several times that I don’t really care. I’ve known Peeta for years, after all. He’s my best friend and always welcome here.

 

“Where are you dragging me out to?” I ask through the open door of my room as I dig through my drawers for a pair of jeans. I need to do laundry, but of course, I am out of quarters. “And can we stay at your place after? I need to do laundry.”

 

“Sure,” he answers, his voice loud enough to let me know he’s made his way inside. “I’m gonna toss these sweats in your hamper, then.”

 

“Don’t you dare!” With my jeans pulled halfway up my thighs, I poke my head out my door and glare at him. “I need to wear those while I do laundry.”

 

“You do not,” Peeta says with a grin and lightly tosses my discarded sweats in the air then catching them. “Besides, pretty sure these pizza stains have been on these things since Jo’s birthday last month.”

 

“Don’t touch my sweats,” I growl, but return to dealing with my half-donned jeans and tug on my favorite pair of Converse. I got them at this second hand store Peeta’s always dragging me to, so he can spend hours digging through the junk to find faded and worn pieces most people might see as trash, but that he somehow turns into works of art that he sells online as a side business.

 

Okay, so I don’t really mind it when he drags me to those kinds of places. Usually, the shopkeepers will leave me alone to browse, and I have found so many great deals over the years. A sterling silver locket for my mother, a set of antique combs and hairbrushes for Prim, and some pretty cool sheafs of piano sheet music for Madge, and these shoes for me. In my favorite color, green. Not easy to find, and I got them for a bargain barely worn.

 

I grab my keys and the small pouch that holds my phone, cards (useless right now), and some lip balm. Then I pop my hip for Peeta’s inspection.

 

“So?”

 

“You’ll do,” he says with a serious nod.

 

“I’ll  _ do _ ?” I mimic his snotty tone.

 

“Well I’m not taking you to the Ritz or anything like that, but--” I walk past him and shove his shoulder a little on my way to the door, effectively shutting him up. 

 

“If this is your idea of cheering me up, you suck at it,” I grumble, shutting the door and locking it. Peeta’s hands grasp my shoulders and turn me around to face him. When his broad shoulders and chest fill my vision, he tugs me closer. Automatically, my arms wrap around him, and his around me. We fall easily into an embrace and I nuzzle my cheek into the soft cotton of his henley. His nearness immediately relaxes me.

 

“You’re right, I'm sorry. Just trying to get you to smile,” he says and I tilt my head back to look at him. Let my lips curl into a smile. There’s not much that compares to the feeling of Peeta’s warm, steady arms shielding me from the rest of the world. Most of the time, when he holds me like this, I don’t want him to let me go.

 

“Where are we going?” I ask as he drops his arms in favor of clasping our hands together.

 

“Ice cream,” he answers and I gasp.

 

“You shit! You know you could’ve gotten me dressed and out the door with a smile on my face ten times faster if you'd just told me that.”

 

“Nah, that’s no fun,” he teases.

 

It’s a short walk down the street to our favorite place, and once we have our ice creams, we settle in at one of the tables to eat. I curl into his side and between bites, vent to him about my asshole boss who claims I was let go due to cutbacks, but let’s be real. Cray always gave me the creeps, and I’m not alone in it. Several of the other girls complained about the same thing. I wouldn’t be surprised if he fired me for never warming up to his shady advances. All through my diatribe, Peeta listens intently, only cutting in to ask a few pointed questions. It’s nice talking to him. He doesn’t try to control the conversation.

 

“Oh, and my Aunt Effie will be in town starting tomorrow,” I cap off the story with the coup d’etat.

 

“That’s the one who was married to Haymitch for two weeks, right?”

 

“Yes it is, daaaaahling,” I say in an affected accent, and Peeta shakes his head at my cruel imitation. “I just don’t get why she’s still hanging around us like she’s still married to Haymitch. She got her alimony and her palace in the country. What more could she want?”

 

“I dunno, I always figured she wanted a family,” Peeta points out. 

 

“Are you taking her side?” I ask testily and shovel another bite of Rocky Road into my mouth. So good. I’d get seconds if I weren’t flat butt broke and unemployed.

 

“No, just trying to see her side,” Peeta says, and I nudge his hand just enough so his Butter Pecan spreads across his nose. He gives me an exasperated look, and I can’t help but stick my tongue out at him. “You know you’ll pay for that, right?”

 

“Please,” I scoff. “You wouldn’t hurt me if your life depended on it.”

 

“So cocky,” he says, wiping his nose clean with one of the napkins.

 

“You love me,” I say, and sit regally straight in my chair, eyes closed to add to the image of aloofness.

 

“Yeah,” he says, the word simple and seductive. I blink my eyes open, but there’s nothing out of place on Peeta’s face to match his tone. And the tenor is gone when he continues. “I must be a glutton for punishment.”

 

My foot lashes out and he catches it, draping my leg over his thighs, and as we finish our ice cream, I add my other leg to the mix and leave them there. I like this about my friendship with Peeta. It’s all the physical and emotional comfort of a boyfriend -- minus the complications. 

 

“Any job prospects yet?” he asks while he’s paying for my second scoop, because he knows without even asking me that I want another. I dodge a twinge of guilt. 

 

“A few. Nothing spectacular, but I figure I can’t afford to be too picky right now.”

 

“You’ll find something,” he says with a confidence I don’t yet feel, and a sweet shy smile that never fails to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It’s like having a mug of hot chocolate coursing through your body while wrapped in the softest chenille blanket and tucked into an alcove with a great book. Impossible not to feel hopeful about the future around that smile.

 

“Wanna bite?” I ask, presenting him with the spoon as we walk back to my place. A feeble attempt at evening the balance. I can’t help it. Even though Peeta claims that as friends, we don’t need to keep track of who owes who what because it all somehow evens out in the end, I know that’s not what he really believes. It’s just what he tells me to get me to shut up about how much more he does for me than I do for him. He honestly believes that friends just help one another and there’s no scorecard at all.

 

It’s naively sweet but I never want to disabuse him of that belief. He smiles at me and shakes his head, turning down the offer of my ice cream. 

 

Which is partly why I dislike taking anything from him, even a few bucks for a scoop of ice cream. He’s not exactly rich himself, starving artist and all that. And he just gives and gives. In addition to his art, though, he actually does have a steady job as a private tutor for a bunch of rich kids at Panem Prep school downtown. Plus he picks up extra work as a substitute teacher. But with a dual major in Literature and Visual Arts, his mother dubbed him “Doubly useless.”

 

I wanted to put a fucking arrow in her throat the day she said that to him. 

 

At least Peeta was able to cut all contact with her after he graduated. The student loans he had were all in his name, so he moved in with his perpetual bachelor, wealth manager, older brother, Ryen. Don’t start a conversation with that guy unless you have a deep urge to take a five hour nap or get shamelessly ogled. 

 

Anyways, Peeta’s living situation is only temporary until he can afford a place of his own. Which might be never if he listens to Ryen, who I am convinced is keeping Peeta around with bullshit excuses and fear mongering over the costs of keeping your own place so he doesn’t have to hire a housekeeper. I swear Peeta does all the cleaning, laundry, cooking, and every other mundane adult chore. He insists that it’s how he pays rent. I insist his brother is a lazy, manipulative, opportunistic asshole.

 

When we reach my place, I gather up my laundry, including the sweats, because he’s right. They’re stained and smell a little rank. He hefts the bag over his shoulder, and hands clasped, we walk back out into the night towards the bus stop. Revelling in comfortable silence.

 

************

 

I stretch before awareness returns. Discover a pocket of warmth in my bed that beckons me back towards sleep. Curling into it, I nuzzle my nose into the sheets to soothe myself with the comforting scent embedded between the cotton threads. Cinnamon, and something more primal and masculine.

 

My nose wrinkles in confusion at this. I haven’t had a man in my bed in months. Lots of months. I pry my eyes open and find myself staring not at my cool, sage green sheets, but at a wall of grey t-shirt with blue words scrolled over them that I can’t read because the fabric is twisted. For a moment, I panic, and then I lift my gaze further until I find the face that belongs to the wall of chest. Peeta.

 

This is nice, actually. We’ve always had a pretty close relationship. I don’t like anyone touching me except for my family and Peeta. But Peeta’s touches, the hand holding and arm linking and the hugs, especially the hugs, are as much a part of our friendship as the endless hours of talking and the fact that neither one of us has any secrets from the other. 

 

I like that. The no secrets. My best friend before Peeta had plenty of them. Like he’d harbored and hidden his romantic intentions and an apparently ardent love for me for years before he eventually hauled off and kissed me. I’d been so shocked at the time that I’d slapped him. It had seemed like the appropriate thing to do, but after that, just one thing after another tore us apart. It turned out that we were too much alike in all the wrong ways (fast temper, slow to forgive) and too different in so many other ways that didn’t even begin to reveal themselves until he’d confessed to being in love with me. Past drama. Moving on.

 

Waking up with Peeta beside me.

 

I’m not sure what else to say except that my fingers curl into his t-shirt, and I shift to rest my head on his shoulder. He grunts and adjusts, and for a moment I think he’s about to wake, but then he stills again, with his arm curled around me, holding me close to him. This is pleasant. I can hear his heartbeat, a steady  _ thud  _ against my cheek. Rhythmic soothing like the agitation noises of a washing machine--

 

A washing machine!

 

“Shit!” I shout, and fling myself upright.

 

“Oof,” Peeta grunts again as I scramble over his body towards the door. I think I might knee him in the crotch in my haste. I tear through the apartment to the small laundry room tucked behind the kitchen, hoping that the clothes I left in the washer last night haven’t taken on that musty smell of moist clothes left too long. I fling open the lid and yank out the shirt on top, holding it to my nose.

 

“Yes,” I hiss in triumph at the lack of stench.

 

“Crisis averted?” Peeta asks behind me, and I give him a sheepish smile. He doesn’t look too injured, though.

 

“Sorry I woke you,” I say and he shrugs.

 

“No big deal. I may never have kids, but it’s an effective way to wake someone.”

 

I snort and throw my wet shirt at him. He catches it and clucks his tongue as I toss the dry load into the basket so I can fold it and begin to transfer the wet clothes to the dryer.

 

“Don’t be dramatic,” I say and glance away as Peeta bends over to add my shirt to the load in the dryer. “Of course you’ll have kids one day.”

 

We’ve never really talked about stuff like this, but I’ve spent time with Peeta around his nieces and nephews, the children of his oldest brother, Graham. Peeta’s a natural with them, and if anyone in this world should be a parent, it’s him. I can just tell by the way his face lights up around them that he wants kids someday. And really, there’s no way someone like him wouldn’t be able to find a sweet, doting woman who would be the perfect mother beside him. They’ll be disgustingly happy and I’ll be--

 

“What’s the scowl for?” Peeta interrupts my thoughts as he shuts the dryer door and I get the machine started. “Ten seconds ago you looked almost happy.”

 

“I’m fine,” I say automatically, and Peeta, able to see right through my lies, opens his mouth to protest. But apparently, we aren’t done with interruptions this morning.

 

“Holy fucking shit! Did you two actually bang last night?” Ryen asks from the doorway and Peeta’s face goes red and splotchy in a second. “Dude, Peeta, I didn’t think you had it in you.”

 

“Can you be any more crass, Ryen?” Peeta asks, stepping between me and his brother. The move is protective, and endearing. Still, I peer over Peeta’s shoulder at his brother, who apparently doesn’t give a damn who sees him in his underwear. Since that’s all he’s wearing. A pair of turquoise blue, tight fitting briefs. I’ve seen looser fitting Speedos on swimmers.

 

My eyes bulge and my face heats as I duck back behind Peeta. Ugh. My skin crawls at the proximity of so much naked flesh. Flesh that I really don’t wanna see. Ever.

 

“It’s about time you got your quiver bone pressure washed. Was it everything you dreamed it could be and more?” Ryen taunts, and Peeta snaps. One second he’s guarding me, and the next, he’s tackling his brother.

 

With a sigh, I stay right where I am. This isn’t a frequent occurrence, but it also isn’t unheard of either. Ryen just knows how to push Peeta’s carefully controlled temper right over the edge. The problem is, they’re brothers. Which means Ryen thinks that gives him license to fight dirty, and Peeta holds back, unwilling to really hurt his family.

 

“Fuck,” one of them mumbles, and I leave my sanctuary to find Peeta face down on the floor with his arm twisted behind him at an odd angle and Ryen sitting on top of him.

 

“Let him go, Ryen,” I huff, annoyed at them both. But Ryen more so than Peeta.

 

“Sure thing, Kat,” Ryen says and stands up, flexing his arm and chest muscles, probably for my benefit. Then he leans over me with a predatory gleam in his eyes. His gaze dipping to my chest and lingering for a second before returning to my eyes. What a douche. “You know, if you ever wanted to try out a real pleasure rod, I’d be happy to let you take mine for a ride.”

 

“You’re vile,” I say and cross my arms to cover my chest. I’m not wearing a bra and Ryen’s gaze on me sends unpleasant chills through me as a pit of dread settles heavily in my middle. “Besides, why would I want your STD riddled body?”

 

Ryen gasps and holds a hand over his chest, his face drooping in a wounded expression.

 

“Rejected. Oh well. Your loss,” he shrugs and saunters off to his room as Peeta slowly stands up.

 

“Sorry,” Peeta mutters. “Let’s just get breakfast and get out of here.”

 

“Peeta,” I say and place a hand on his shoulder. He tenses beneath my touch. “Ryen’s an asshole.”

 

My words are poor compensation, but Peeta smiles tentatively, his red cheeks lightening into a much cuter pink. A happy flush rather than an angry or embarrassed flush. 

 

“Last night, I was an asshole, remember?”

 

“You know I don’t mean that,” I say and shrug, trying to brush off the feeling coiling in my middle. “I just call you that when I know you’re right about something. It’s annoying.”

 

Peeta’s eyebrows lift off his forehead in astonishment.

 

“Did you just admit to being wrong?” he asks.

 

“Shut up,” I say and flounce past him to the kitchen. “I’m hungry.”

 

Thankfully, Peeta doesn’t push my admission that he was right to get me out of my apartment and self-pity last night. While my situation isn’t any better this morning, I at least feel that I can tackle the problem come Monday. I’ve got the whole weekend to pull out my resume, dust it off, and fine tune it so that when the new week starts, I can hit the pavement and find a job.

 

Also thankfully, Ryen gets dressed and disappears, grabbing one of the crepes Peeta made and winking at me before he struts from the apartment. Good riddance.

 

Unthankfully, my phone buzzes with a text from my mother while Peeta and I are in the middle of a very important discussion about whether or not The Avengers would survive while stranded on a desert island. They totally wouldn’t, by the way. Too much in-fighting and drama. Especially if you throw Bucky into the mix. It’d make for good TV, though.

 

I swipe my phone to unlock it and groan as I skim the message from my mother.

 

“What’s wrong?” Peeta asks.

 

“Change of plans with regards to Aunt Effie,” I tell him and hand him my phone so he can read it himself.

 

“Yachting?” he asks skeptically.

 

“As if her status as gold-digger of the year wasn’t already solidified, she pulls some crap like this,” I mutter and shovel more crepes and cinnamon roasted apples into my mouth. So good. One of the best things about being friends with Peeta.

 

“What’s this about bringing a friend?”

 

“Dunno,” I shrug. “Maybe she just wants to show off to more people. You’re coming right?”

 

“A weekend yachting in Panem Cove with your Aunt Effie?” he asks skeptically, then he shrugs. “At least the food will be good.”

 

I laugh and nudge his shin with my toe. We eat for a few minutes in peace before my phone starts ringing and I roll my eyes and groan louder this time, already knowing who it will be. The text from my mother was probably a heads up warning, not an actual invitation.

 

“Hello?” I ask, trying to keep the bite from my voice.

 

“Katniss, daaaaahling,” my Aunt Effie drawls and I cringe. She always sounds like a snake the way she hisses on the last syllable of my name. Kat-nisssssssss. Ugh ad finitum.

 

“Hi, Aunt Effie,” I say, trying to affect excitement. Beside me, Peeta keeps eating. Bastard. He knows I’ll probably be on the phone for a long time and can’t eat because Effie’s sixth sense would kick in and I’d get a lecture for talking with my mouth full. “How are you?”

 

“Oh just mahvelous, dahling. Simply mahvelous! I’m sure your mother has told you, but I of course wanted to extend a personal invitation to you. I have recently acquired a yacht and would love it if you could journey out here next weekend to help me christen it.”

 

“Sure Aunt Effie,” I say, because if I don’t go, my mother will badger me for being rude. Also, Aunt Effie is insanely generous with her insanely ridiculous alimony money she gets from Uncle Haymitch. Truthfully, if it weren’t for her, I probably would have had to work two or three jobs to afford college and failed out within a week or never even gone. Then I wouldn’t have met Peeta.

 

“Wonderful!” she gushes. “Now, I know you aren’t seeing anyone right now, but Primrose is bringing Rory and Haymitch is unfortunately bringing his newest flame. Hazel or Maysel or whatever. However, I don’t want the numbers to be uneven, so you are more than welcome to bring a friend of your own. Perhaps that lovely girl who plays the piano?”

 

“Um, thanks Effie but Madge is on her honeymoon, I was going--”

 

“Oh how splendid for her!” Effie cuts me off, her squeal loud enough to force me to hold the phone away from my ear. The woman has got a set of pipes on her, that’s for sure. She keeps rambling on about how smart it is for Madge to settle down young while her biology is ripe for bearing children, and Peeta smiles at me as he listens in to the rapid-fire listing of why girls should get married young, even though Effie herself married very young and she’s now got three divorces under her belt and a potential fourth husband on the horizon.

 

“You really should get on that Katniss. Tick tock!” I blush at Effie’s words and Peeta chokes a little on his crepe as I put the phone back to my ear. It settles on me, the heavy realization that between recently losing my job and being single since the dawn of the dinosaurs as far as Effie is concerned, I won’t catch a break next weekend. Effie will hound me for two days about my love life, my sex life. My private life will become her business, and even though it’s just too lousy days, I really don’t have the energy to field her questions or her veiled barbs. 

 

“I know an excellent woman in the city, Katniss, who could easily match you up with a fine young man,” Effie goes on.

 

“Actually,” I cut her off this time, not wanting to hear her espouse the virtues of her good friend Tigris and her matchmaking services. The whole thing just seems archaic to me, and a devious plan has been forming in my mind as she keeps yammering. “Actually, Effie, I  _ am  _ seeing someone.”

 

Effie practically screams in delight. Peeta freezes and he stares at me, wide-eyed. I give him a pleading look, trying to communicate silently to him, but I’m committed now, and before I even get a chance to ask him if he’s okay with it, I continue the charade. 

 

“Yes, I’ll bring him this weekend,” I promise Effie when she stops her verbal vomit to take a breath. “You already know him. It’s Peeta.”

 

_ What are you doing? _ Peeta mouths, his features wrinkling in confusion and a hundred other emotions I don’t have time to name because Effie is still screaming in my ear.

 

“Oh, I want to hear all about it when you get here, dahling and I am so excited for you! Oh! I have to go. Quintus is beckoning for me. We will see you Friday with your beau, Katniss! Toodaloo!”

 

She hangs up before I can respond to any of that except to gag at her mention of Quintus. The ultimate cliche. The pool maintenance man ten years Effie’s junior who she shacks up with on occasion. I’m serious. Don’t sit on her lounge chairs around the pool without a towel between you and the chair.

 

I release a sigh and finally manage to look up at my best friend, who has shoved aside his breakfast in favor of fixing me with an intense look. Giving him my best puppy dog eyes, which are nowhere near as good as his, I lean towards him in supplication.

 

“You wanna tell me when we started dating?”

 

“Five minutes ago?” I joke, but Peeta doesn’t budge. “Please, Peeta. It’s only two days. Aunt Effie only inserts herself on our lives once every few months. So this gives me a few months of breathing room to find a new job. Because you know that in her mind, being both fundless and boyfriendless is the ultimate sin. This way, I eliminate one of those.”

 

“Yeah, but us pretending to date? No one’s gonna believe that.”

 

“Sure they will,” I insist, a little perturbed at his insinuation. I know I’m not the prettiest girl around and my smiles may be hard to come by, and okay I’m stubborn and hard to deal with, but if my best friend doesn’t think I’m deserving of someone’s love and attention then who else would?

 

“Think about it. We don’t have to come up with some lie for a backstory. We’re just two friends who realized they felt more for each other. We don’t have to scramble to learn about one another because we already know everything that matters. My mother and sister know you and adore you, so we won’t be fighting against family disapproval,” I tick off all the reasons this could work, but as I do, his face just gets darker and more upset.

 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” he says quietly.

 

“It’ll be fine. It’ll be great,” I insist. “It might even be fun. Plus, the food.”

 

That finally breaks through Peeta’s sour expression and he chuckles. I bounce in my seat as he works through whatever objections he still has.

 

“Okay fine, but just for next weekend,” he concedes.

 

“Thank you!” I gasp and fling myself at him to smother him with a hug. Our chairs wobble and his broad hands flatten on my back to steady us both. Cocooned in his warm embrace, I know that everything will work out just fine.

 

************

 

“There he is!” Effie squeals and flings herself at Peeta, a perfumed tornado of welcome. “The man who finally melted our lovely Katniss!”

 

I cringe at her description of me. It’s a familiar one. I’ve lost count of how many boys and men have called me cold. Frigid. Ice queen. Even Gale hurled those terms at me when we were falling apart, knowing how much it would hurt me. Granted, I threw plenty of nasty names right back, but still.

 

“Good to see you, too, Effie,” Peeta says, politely returning the embrace before she releases him to attack me.

 

“I’m just so happy for you, dahling,” she gushes and I think I catch the glistening of tears in the corners of her eyes just before her arms practically strangle me.

 

“Are Mom and Prim here yet?” I manage to ask.

 

“No not yet, dear. Now let me show you to your room,” she announces in clipped tones and I breathe deeply, trying to rejuvenate my crushed windpipe. Peeta poorly suppresses a laugh at my expression, and I elbow him as soon as Effie’s back is turned.

 

“You know you shouldn’t do that if we’re supposed to be madly in love,” he whispers, his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear and making my spine quiver. I glare at him and do it again, but he’s prepared this time and easily links my arm through his instead. I lean into him for support.

 

“In here, my dears!” Effie trills as we reach one of the bedrooms at the end of the second floor hallway. I step inside as Quintus, who is apparently also playing bellhop this weekend, places both my bag and Peeta’s bag on the bench at the foot of the massive bed. The windows are flung wide with a stunning view of the lush green acres of Effie’s property and Lake Paneml beyond. The creamy sheer curtains dance in the breeze, beckoning the occupants of the room to relax, unwind, enjoy the view and the comforts of the room.

 

The bed is huge, and there’s only one.

 

“Are we both in here?” Peeta asks delicately, aware of Effie’s insistence on manners and etiquette.

 

“Oh, my sweet peach!” Effie says, clapping her hands over his cheeks and squeezing. “I am not so naive to think you two haven’t already -- ahem -- danced the mambo, as it were. It’s practically radiating off you both. All I ask is that you be quiet and discreet in my home.”

 

We both stare agog at her and then glance around the room, ignoring one another. What could Effie possibly mean? We’ve never, I mean it’s not that I don’t think about it, but I haven’t. Not in months and certainly not with my best friend. I just can’t afford to lose Peeta, and what’s she talking about anyways? It’s radiating off of us? What does that even mean?   
  


I steal a glance at Peeta. His lips are pursed, but he nods as Effie doles out reminders of where everything is and not to hesitate to ask a member of the staff if we need something, and then she vanishes in a whirlwind of perfume and assumptions with her tinkling words hanging in the air behind her.

 

“I’ll just leave you two to settle in! Dinner in an hour! Ta-ta, my dears!”

 

The door shuts behind her, leaving just the two of us and Effie’s innuendos in the room. Peeta clears his throat first as he unzips his bag.

 

“So,” he says.

 

“Peeta, I’m so sorry. I thought she’d put us in separate rooms.”

 

“It’s okay, Katniss,” he says softly, waving away the awkward mess I’ve landed us in. “It’s not like we've never slept in the same bed before. But if it makes you feel better, I’ll sleep on the floor. We’ll rumple the sheets in the morning, and Effie will never know. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” I whisper and bite my lip as he pulls out his black toiletries case.

 

“I’m just gonna go freshen up, okay?”

 

“Okay,” I say again as he disappears into the bathroom. I bite my nails and retrieve my phone from my pouch, intent on sending a message to my sister and my mother to warn them. I’ve been so preoccupied trying to find a job and working a few shifts at the diner a few blocks away -- just something to at least keep the money coming in for now -- that I completely forgot to tell my family that Peeta and I are dating. And it’d be really awkward if they heard it from Effie.

 

“Whoa,” Peeta’s awed voice sounds from the bathroom. “Is she for real?”

 

I grin and scramble to join him. He’s staring at the massive tub and the huge picture window framing a vista as impressive as the one from the bedroom. Peeta looks almost giddy.

 

“Oh, I’ve got to try this thing out while we’re here.”

 

“Going to indulge in some frivolity?” I tease him, and I’m glad that Effie has that tub, because whatever tension or awkwardness was brewing between us seems to have dissipated. 

 

“Heck yeah,” he says, kicking off his shoes and climbing into the tub, sinking down into the depths with a sigh. “It’s the first tub that hasn’t made me feel like I’m wedged in.”

 

With a smile, I perch on the edge of the tub and watch him as he looks around in awe. He’s probably right, though. Even in Effie’s massive tub, Peeta’s broad shoulders take up a good deal of space.

 

“Well you should,” I encourage, because I have a feeling this weekend is only going to contain more awkward moments. It wouldn’t surprise me if Effie asks about wedding bells next. I blush as a mental image of Peeta in a tux at the end of a long, flower draped aisle enters my head. Ridiculous.

 

************

 

Dinner isn’t nearly as bad as the welcome, since Effie now has Prim and Rory to fawn over. In a rare display of defiance, my mother didn’t bring anyone, insisting that she’s perfectly fine being the odd one out. Haymitch and Maysilee haven’t arrived yet. I still don’t understand his relationship with Effie. They’re divorced. He pays her alimony, but then he also attends her social functions, usually with some painted butterfly on his arm. Although, Maysilee has been his sole companion for a number of months now.

 

Whatever. It’s weird, but the point is, since Prim is younger, fresher, more apt to love, Effie focuses mainly on her and Rory during the meal. Asking prying questions and emphasizing how long they’ve been together. I want to rip Effie’s lavender wig off her head, but Prim handles it with aplomb, deftly maneuvering her way around the questions and sending pointed stares across the table at me.

 

I send them right back. No way am I volunteering myself up for the slaughter to save my little sister. No matter how much I love her. Where Effie and romance are concerned, it’s every set of ovaries for themselves. Besides, Prim is doing so well handling the interrogation. Really, I’m quite proud of her.

 

“Now dear,” Effie states. “You and Rory got here quite late, but Quintus has already placed your bags in your rooms. You’re in the green room next to your mother. And Rory is in the yellow room next to Katniss and Peeta. Let me know if everything is to your satisfaction, yes?”

 

“Wait,” Prim says, and I feel a cold shiver of dread. Peeta places his hand over mine under the table and I squeeze, waiting for the bomb to explode. “We’re in separate rooms, but Katniss and Peeta are together? They just started dating ten seconds ago.”

 

I glare at her as Effie ruffles her wig and Prim innocently slides a bite of artichoke souffle in her mouth.

 

“No petty squabbling, Primrose,” Effie chides, and my mother opens her mouth, perhaps to defend one or both of her daughters. I don’t know because Effie holds up a perfectly manicured hand to silence her. “Please, Lillian. You deal with their nonsense all the time. Allow me.”

 

She clears her throat and everyone shares mingled looks of horror, curiosity, amusement, and annoyance.

 

“You and Rory are quite young but have also been in a stable relationship. I expect Rory to act as the utmost gentleman and you to act as the epitome of a lady. You have plenty of time to engage in carnal acts. Once you are properly married, your bedroom life becomes your private life. Until then, I will ask you to respect and abide by the rules of my household.” 

 

I roll my eyes, knowing how she still pries into my mother’s dating life, or lack thereof, and admonishes her that she’ll want a companion in her old age and she’s not getting any younger, and my father’s been dead quite long enough now for the proper mourning time to have passed, and UGH!

 

“Katniss, on the other hand,” Effie states, turning her piercing green eyes on me. “Is on the brink of spinsterhood and needs all the assistance she can get. If that means bending the rules of decorum a little, then I am willing to make that sacrifice to see my dear niece engaged in a healthy, fruitful marriage.”

 

“Nothing like a fruitful marriage,” Prim says and Effie sighs while I scowl at her again. So much for sibling loyalty. She grins and winks at me, and now I understand why Peeta sometimes gives up on words and starts throwing punches at his brother. The only thing keeping me from flying across the table right now and gouging out my baby sister’s lovely blue eyes is Peeta’s firm grip on my hand.

 

“That is quite enough inappropriate talk for the dinner table,” Effie announces with a flourish of her hand and a radiant smile. “We need to discuss the plan for tomorrow’s outing!”

 

I tune her out and focus on my meal and the feel of Peeta’s hand massaging mine, slowly drawing out the anger and the vitriol I want to spew at my sister. She knows how much I hate being the center of attention. Being scrutinized and having my life laid bare. But by the time dessert is served, Peeta’s moved on to massaging my thigh, and I’m starting to feel boneless, uncertain if it’s the wine Effie served with the meal or the effect of his soothing touch.

 

************

 

I take my time in the massive bathroom. A shower that fills the room with steam. A cleansing wash of my face. Careful braiding of my hair, and then a quick brush of my teeth. Tonight’s dinner plays over on a loop in my head. What a fiasco. But at least Peeta was calm and polite through the ordeal. I can always count on him to bring steadiness to the worst situations imaginable. 

 

When I open the door, Peeta’s there with his fist raised, prepared to knock. We blink at each other in the darkness, the moonlight streaming in through the open windows the only source of illumination.

 

We don’t speak, but turn to pass one another in the doorway. One of us loses our footing and then we’re pressed chest to chest, still staring into the other’s eyes. A rumbling begins in my middle. Not an auditory one, but a tactile one. I feel it spreading outwards down my arms, raising gooseflesh and an unnamable desire as my eyes drop to his mouth. Have his lips always been that plump? I find myself drawn closer to him, stopped only by the clearing of his throat and his hand on my shoulder as he gently shifts our positions once more.

 

I stand there, staring at the bathroom door now shut between us as the light flicks on, a stripe of it escaping through the crack beneath the door. Confused by my reaction to Peeta, I climb into the huge bed and curl into a ball. The cool cotton sheets only make the shivers that wrack my body worse.

 

A few moments later, Peeta emerges from the bathroom and settles himself on the makeshift bed of pillows and blankets on the floor. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to sort through my feelings to no avail. What the hell is wrong with me? We’re pretending at being in love, but in these quiet moments, it feels so real. My body sparking to life every time he so much as looks at me. Must be the deprivation.

 

Yes, that’s it. A man hasn’t touched me in over a year. Even then, it wasn’t that great. I’d rate it as mediocre. And not worth all the drama and inconvenience. But perhaps I’ve held back from intimacy so long that my body is responding to the first semblance of romance that it’s encountered in months. An unwelcome Pavlovian response to my best friend, who is undeniably handsome and kind. Which makes him desirable. Any woman would be lucky to have his love.

 

My hand fists the sheets at the thought of it. He’d still be my friend, though. I’m certain that even if Peeta fell in love with someone, it wouldn’t come between us. Nothing could do that.

 

Although I can’t see him, I hear him roll over and sigh as he tries to get comfortable. I fight back a stab of guilt, but don’t invite him up into the bed. Too afraid that if I do, I will find myself closer than I can stand to be. Scorched by the sun. I toss and turn for a few hours, and I know he’s doing the same. But neither one of us speaks.

 

************

 

Waking up groggy sucks. First there’s the denial. The subconscious refusal to yield to the inevitable pull of light and noise. My body clings to the last edges of sleep, a physical fight that drains whatever rest I managed to finally garner in the early hours of the morning. Then comes the groaning, irate capitulation.

 

“Go away,” I mutter at whoever is knocking on my door. We have reached stage three. Rage-filled acceptance.

 

“Up up up!” Effies calls through the door. “It’s a big, big, big day!”

 

“Devil woman,” I groan and bury my head further under the pillows. But she does keep a nice bed. While I’m not at all rested, at least my body doesn’t ache the way it often does after a night sleeping on my own cheap mattress. This bed is a cloud. 

 

“Come on,” Peeta urges, pulling back the blankets and dodging the pillow I swing at his head. He smiles and snatches it from my grip before dropping it to the floor. “You know if you don’t get up, she’ll just be back in a minute.”

 

“Too comfy,” I protest. Peeta arches his brow at me and I see the warning spark in his eyes, but I ignore it. After the awful night I had, trying to figure out why I was responding to him like I want him, I need some of his laughter. A reminder of the friendship I stand to lose if I do something stupid. Like give in to my cravings.

 

“Too comfy?” he nearly chokes on the words. “You wanna try the floor tonight?”

 

“No,” I say and try to cover my face with another pillow, to block out the blinding brightness of the sunrise and Peeta’s blue eyes. “Didn’t you hear Effie last night? You’re supposed to be a gentleman.”

 

“No, Rory’s supposed to be a gentleman. Apparently I’m supposed to be a scoundrel and knock you up. The sooner the better,” he says and I squeal as he grabs my ankles and yanks me across the bed towards him. He laughs as I kick in protest. I twist my body and throw off his balance. He falls onto the bed, and we roll about, tangling the sheets and laughing as we tussle for control. 

 

I gasp as Peeta somehow pins me on my back, winds up hovering over me, my arms restrained over my head in one of his hands. I wrap my legs around him and squeeze, plotting my next move, but as his hips settle on top of mine, heat springs to life deep in my belly, percolating out to my fingertips and toes as we lay there, our panted breaths filling the minute space between our mouths. The hand not pinning me down is tucked into my side, his thumb drawing lazy circles over my hip bone, exposed when our fight pulled my pajama shorts down. The nerves in my hip are apparently directly connected to my clit, and I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it or what it’s doing to me.

 

I’m also not sure I’ve ever been this close to his face before, and I learn something I never knew about him until this instant. There are tiny flecks of green in his irises, enhancing the beautiful shade of blue I know so well.

 

“Now my sweets, you need to get up--” Effie’s words die in her throat on a gasp as both of us jerk our heads to look at her, standing with her hand on the doorknob and a satisfied, almost feline grin on her face. “Well, don’t let me interrupt. I’ll just go invent an excuse to delay our outing!”

 

“No,” I whisper as she retreats. I’ve never seen her move that fast. As soon as she’s gone, I go limp and Peeta extracts himself from my hold and everything aches, but especially my core, and oh fuck, what a mess I’ve made. I glance up at Peeta, who runs a hand through his hair and then stutters around something like an apology before he disappears into the bathroom. I listen as the water starts, and realize just how close I am to destroying us. I need to stop giving in to these urges to touch him, tease him, draw him closer. It isn’t fair. I’m flirting with a fire I won’t be able to douse and then he’ll just end up hating me, like all the rest of them.

 

************

 

Peeta emerges with flushed cheeks, and I quickly dart into the bathroom to get dressed. Hastily brushing my teeth and seized with a new panic. Effie and her big mouth. I have visions of her telling my sister and my mother that she caught us having sex.

 

When I’m finished, we walk downstairs and across the lawns towards the lake in silence. Should we hold hands? I don’t know I don’t know. His fingers brush mine and I turn my palm. Our fingers twine together. No thoughts, no discussion. We’ll face this as one. 

 

Especially after what happened this morning, his solidarity with me brings tears stinging to my eyes. I blink them away and tilt my chin up, plastering what I hope is the smile of satisfied woman onto my face. It must work, because as we come into view of the dock and Effie’s newest toy, a sleek sailboat complete with uniformed crew, she yells out a happy greeting. And my mother examines me carefully, as though searching for clues that her daughter did indeed just get fucked.

 

With a slight shake of her head, she turns her discerning eyes on Peeta and purses her lips. I'm not sure what to make of her reaction to us. I am swamped with more guilt over the lies I am telling my family in the name of making this act as convincing as possible.

 

As we step onto the dock to join the others, the structure sways with the lapping water of the lake. Peeta’s hand tightens over mine, and I squeeze back, thinking that he’s seeking reassurance after my mother’s scrutiny.

 

“Isn’t she magnificent?” Effie asks, spreading her arms to indicate the boat before us. “Now we’ve packed the champagne and the picnic lunch. I hope all of you were able to squeeze in a decent breakfast.”

 

At this she throws a meaningful look over her sunglasses at Peeta and I. My face heats, and Effie chuckles something about new love being so attractive in the mornings. Wonderful. Might as well announce it to the world. Her impractical heels click on the dock as she makes her way towards the sailboat.

 

“I named her  _ String of Pearls _ . Isn’t she lovely?” Effie asks as she motions for all of us to climb aboard. Prim and Rory board first, followed by Effie, but when I take a step forward, Peeta doesn’t budge. My hand still clenched in his chafes and the resistance on my arm jerks me to a halt.

 

Looking back at him with a question on my lips, I gasp. His face has turned a sickly grey and he’s got his eyes and mouth tightly shut, taking deep breaths through his nose.

 

“Peeta?” I ask cautiously. “Are you okay?”

 

He hums a negative response and his grip on me tightens further. I’m gripping him, too, though, and I don’t see how either of us has any circulation left in our hands.

 

“Something wrong?” my mother asks as she steps over to us, and I wave helplessly at Peeta. “Get him off the dock, Katniss. Slowly.”

 

I nod and guide him back to shore. As soon as we make it, Peeta collapses on the grass. My mother shifts his form as Effie twitters about delays, and I throw a nasty glare in her direction that shuts her up. Once my mom has Peeta sitting with his knees propped up and his head between his legs, arms braced on his knees to support him, he starts hyperventilating.

 

“Mom, what’s wrong with him?” I ask frantically.

 

“Just seasickness, Katniss. Nothing to worry about. I’ll go see if Effie has any Dramamine or something similar in the house. You stay with Peeta.”

 

I rub his back and watch the curls that toy with nape of his neck turn damp with sweat, whisper nonsensical things to try and soothe him. I feel so helpless, and although I know it isn’t life threatening, I don’t like to see him hurting.

 

“Here, take this,” my mother urges, handing him a few pills and a glass of water.

 

“Thanks, Mrs. E,” he murmurs as he obediently throws his head back to swallow the pills and then groans. I take the cup from him as he collapses back over his knees.

 

“Everything alright?” Effie chirps, having finally come ashore to check on her guests.

 

“Peeta just got a little seasick,” my mother explains.

 

“Seasick? Why? He was just standing on the dock!”

 

“Sometimes, that’s all it takes,” my mother explains through clenched teeth.

 

“I have some medicine in the house.”

 

“Yes, I found it,” my mother states succinctly. “And he’s taken it, but I still don’t think it’s a good idea for him to sail with us today. There’s no sense in him being miserable.”

 

“No, I suppose not,” Effie concedes, although she looks like she wants to argue.

 

“I’m staying with him,” I speak up, placing one hand protectively on his knee. He shudders and swallows heavily.

 

“There’s no need--” Effie starts, but my mother cuts her off before she can show herself to be an ass.

 

“Good idea, Katniss. Come on, Effie. We wouldn’t want to miss out on the fun, now would we?” 

 

She links her arm through Effie’s and unerringly pulls her back down to the dock and eventually onto the sailboat. Although my relationship with my mother hasn’t been the same since my father died and she succumbed to her grief, nearly leaving Prim and I abandoned to starve and deal with the fallout, I have to admire her when she’s like this. Determined. Healing others and seeing to their needs. I only wish she’d been able to do it in the days right after my father died. Maybe then, I could trust her.

 

“I’m fine, Katniss. You should go,” Peeta whispers as I watch them leave.

 

“I’m not leaving you, Peeta,” I tell him, and he turns his head just the smallest amount to look at me. He opens his mouth to speak and then his eyes widen in horror just before he flings himself away from me and pukes all over the grass.

 

I blanche and cover my nose and mouth. Can’t stand the smell of vomit.

 

“Fuck,” he mutters in a pained voice, and as he sits back up, his face dappled in sweat and ghostly pale, I can’t help but laugh a little. “What, you think this is funny?”

 

“No, but it’s very sexy,” I tell him, and he smiles.

 

“Then how about a kiss, sweetheart?”

 

“Ugh, gross,” I wrinkle my nose and shove his shoulder a little. Just a little. I don’t want to make him puke again. “I have a better idea. Let’s go take advantage of that huge tub.”

 

Something flickers in his eyes, but I’m in the midst of standing, and when I’m steady on my feet, the expression is gone. I help him up, and we head back inside. As he sits on the edge of the tub, his skin regains some of its color, and by the time I’ve got the warm water ready, complete with some bubble concoction that claims relaxing and restorative powers, Peeta’s starting to look almost healthy again.

 

“Thanks,” he says as I stand and retreat out of the room. I consider offering to help him get in, but I don’t know if he’d want that much help. There’s also the fact that I’d have to see him naked, and I don’t think for a second that I can handle that. So I nod and exit the bathroom, leaving the door cracked as I settle on the bed, just in case he needs to shout for me.

 

The bed is still a mess and I squeeze my eyes shut and tell my raging hormones to calm down as I hear the sinuous sounds of Peeta slipping into the water. I can’t help but imagine the sight. His thick, muscular thighs disappearing beneath the bubbles. Arm muscles bulging as they flex, supporting his weight until he settles into the water, and then the stretch of his neck, exposing his throat as he leans his head back to relax.

 

I am lit from within at the image and stand to pace restlessly. I glance out the window, watch the sailboat as it glides away from the house. Return to the bed and straighten the covers.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta calls out, and I freeze. “Where are the towels?”

 

“Should be hanging on the rack,” I answer and swallow the thick coating in my throat that has turned my voice husky.

 

“They’re not,” he says, and I sigh. I cover my eyes before I enter the bathroom, and to my surprise, Peeta laughs. “I don’t care if you see me, Katniss. Besides, everything worth seeing is covered with bubbles.”

 

“You’re an ass,” I retort as I drop my hand and he shrugs, lifting his hands off the rim of tub. He looks so inviting in there that I have to bite my lip and force myself to look around for the towels instead of climbing in with him.

 

“I guess one of Effie’s maids took them to wash this morning,” I suggest when I can’t find any towels. I search the cabinets and crow triumphantly when I find some fresh towels in one of the lower cabinets.

 

As I stand and spin to show him what I’ve found, I catch him staring intently at a spot near the floor. His chest rising and falling in rapid breaths.

 

“Peeta, are you gonna be sick again?” I ask nervously.

 

“What?” he says as his vision clears and he focuses on my face. “Oh. No. Not gonna puke again. I know how attractive you find that, Ms. Squeamish. Remind me again how you can hunt but turn green at the thought of vomit.”

 

“Okay, wisenheimer, here are your towels,” I tell him, setting them carefully near the edge and practically running from the room, flushed and flustered, wondering if I just caught Peeta checking out my ass. This time, I firmly shut the bathroom door between us.

 

************

 

When he’s dried and dressed in comfy shorts and a t-shirt, Peeta suggests a quiet afternoon on Effie’s wide and welcoming veranda, since we’re both worn from the morning and still tired from our poor sleep last night. After gathering a picnic of our own of sorts, we settle onto the cushioned daybed. 

 

Peeta tosses back a few more Dramamine and munches carefully on several of the crackers and an apple. I have one of those myself, savoring the sweet juices as I bite into the crisp fruit, pairing it with rich goat’s cheese. 

 

Fed and, in his case, drugged up, we settle onto opposite sides of the cushions, our bare feet meeting in the middle. Peeta sketches, and I drag out my laptop to continue my job search. Since I have a few minutes to spare, I might as well. 

 

But then I’m feeling so warm and relaxed and uncaring about anything other than the comfort of a quiet afternoon with my best friend, that I start to doze off. I wake briefly when Peeta removes my laptop from beneath my hands, and shutting it, sets it aside. I whimper a feeble protest.

 

“We’re both falling asleep. Come on,” he urges. I stretch out next to him, his chest flush with my back, pressed tightly together on the narrow bed. I wriggle and wedge one foot between his calves and he drapes an arm around me, surrounding me with heat. He sighs, the puff of air tickling the back of my neck as I drift back down.

 

For the first time in ages, I dream on a cloud. Not in a flood of nightmares. The visions are hazed and elusive, filtering through a sieve like so much golden pixie dust until I wake, unable to remember what I dreamt about, only knowing that whatever it was, I was happy. Deliciously joyful. And that it is somehow connected to Peeta.

 

I hear laughter on the fragrant summer breezes blowing in off the lake. The soft sounds of Peeta breathing behind me. Steady. Even. Deep. A tremor shakes his hand and arm. It tightens against me, and for one moment as I float back into slumber, I think I hear him murmur my name.

 

************

 

“So did you have a good afternoon?” Prim asks and I kick her under the table. We’re too old to be acting like this, but she’s been flirting with my wrath ever since she and Rory found Peeta and I still asleep on the porch, wrapped around one another.

 

“Yeah, nausea is always fun,” Peeta chimes in, and Prim looks away, her cheeks flushing a little in shame. Good. I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. Peeta gives my hand a reassuring squeeze under the table. He hasn’t let go of my hand since we woke up this afternoon. Except for the fifteen minutes I spent taking my turn soaking in the tub. Even then, he wasn’t far, sitting propped against the wall just outside the open bathroom door so we could talk while I bathed and he sketched, his right shoulder, upturned knee, and profile visible to me.

 

“Slow down, Primrose,” Effie chastises gently. “The food isn’t going to disappear.”

 

Her flush deepens, but I ignore her discomfort, sending a grateful look towards Peeta. He smiles at me and relief washes through me. Whatever weirdness happened between us this morning has long since been forgotten, erased with our pleasant afternoon together. With a return smile for him, I dip into my spring green soup and enjoy the delicate foods Effie’s kitchen staff has prepared.

 

Haymitch still hasn’t showed, but no one seems to have really noticed or care. I guess the drama of two young couples is more than enough to entertain. The conversation isn’t that stimulating with Effie at the helm, and I drift in and out of it as I consume my fill. The one thing I don’t do is let go of Peeta’s hand. 

 

************

 

The walls collapse as the air ignites. I reach out, screaming for my father to run, but he is consumed anyways. I never yell soon enough.

 

“Katniss, wake up,” Peeta’s voice reaches me, lifting me from the depths of the stinking, sweat-embedded, flaming mine and into the perfumed world of sailing yachts and 800 thread count sheets and Effie’s bubbling wealth. I sob and cling to his shoulders. His arms around me a rare comfort from the dangers of the night. He waits until I’m quiet before whispering to me again. “Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“My Dad,” I moan and he nods, his chin bumping into the crown of my head.

 

“The explosion?” It’s my turn to nod, and we need no more words. 

 

Peeta knows about this nightmare of mine, one that’s haunted me since my father, a newly minted mining foreman, led his crew of fifty into an unstable mine shaft. When it exploded, killing all fifty of them and severely injuring workers in a neighboring shaft, the owners laid all the blame at my father’s feet. Said he should have known better. Bullshit. My father would never have deliberately put anyone’s lives at risk like that. But there was no proof to clear my father’s name.

 

The tiny town we lived in turned their backs on us. My mother lost her job as a pharmacist. We nearly starved. Until my Uncle Haymitch, a wealthy distant cousin of my father’s, swooped in and carted us all out of that backwoods town. Sometimes I miss it, but mostly, I hate it for what it did to my father. To my mother and to my sister and me.

 

Free from the ostracization, my mother managed to find her way back to health. I took on jobs as soon as I could, and so did Prim. Eventually, Effie waltzed into the picture and never left.

 

I sigh and breathe in Peeta’s familiar scent. Cinnamon gum. The clean scent of his soap, and an underlying spice that he tries to cover up, but that I know is there.

 

“Better now?” he whispers, his breath shifting and winding through my hair to my scalp.

 

“Mhmm,” I hum, but I struggle as he tries to stand and leave me. 

 

“Peeta,” I plead. “Stay with me?”

 

His hesitation stretches out between us, interminable and unbearable, but then he nods. I peel back the covers to admit him and he slides between them. We easily fall into an embrace, my nose brushing his chest, his hands rubbing soothingly over my back. I take a deep breath of him then turn my head to listen to his heartbeat, strong and steady, against my cheek. I fall back asleep to that lullaby and the word he whispers to me but that I don’t catch in my half asleep daze.

 

************

 

In the morning, I escape the house before anyone else wakes up, leaving a note on the pillows next to Peeta to let them know where I’ve gone. It’s Sunday and we’ll be headed back into the city later this afternoon. And I need to clear my head of its muddled thoughts where Peeta is concerned. To see this strange, idyllic weekend for what it really is. A fantasy.

 

There isn’t much in the way of woods around Effie’s house. More manicured lawns and acres of orchards than anything else. I wander through the trees and inhale their musk, pluck a few ripe pears that I tuck in a knapsack I brought along, thinking they might make a good snack on the drive back to Peeta’s apartment. He borrowed Ryen’s car to get us out here, a favor that will probably cost him dearly, although he refuses to tell me what the cost is. Which means it’s far too steep.

 

The fresh air and nature, usually so good at helping me find my way, fails me today. I head back towards Effie’s when my stomach starts growling for lunch. As I crest the last hill, my dilemma worsens.

 

They’re all gathered at the lake. My mother and Effie, smiling and chatting as they bask in the sunshine. Prim giggling as she sits with her feet dangling in the water and Rory paddling around her, flinching whenever he gets close and she kicks to fling water over him.

 

Perhaps the dock and the boat made Peeta sick, but swimming is something he has no problem with. As I watch him jump from a stationary platform into the water, the reaction is immediate. No warning. No chance to defend myself. Heat coils low inside me and I clench my thighs as he emerges from the water a second after submerging. Glistening and tempting. A feast for the eyes. Maybe if he hadn’t held me so tenderly last night. Maybe if he hadn't looked adorably kissable this morning with his ripe pink lips parted on a quiet breath and his cheeks flushed and his freckles freckling and his golden lashes brushing his cheeks and his hair mussed and begging for my fingers and holy hell.

 

I race around the back of the house and charge up the stairs to our room, grateful that everyone is occupied with swimming at the lake as I barricade myself inside. Flinging the knapsack aside, I flop on the bed and kick off my boots, my hands fumbling with my shorts. I sigh as my fingers light on my folds, already slick with undeniable want. Turning my head, I bite down on the nearest pillow and arch my back into my touch, panting and feverish as I chase after release. Soft blond curls, a crooked, dimpled smile. A laugh so often in harmony with my own.

 

“Oh god, Peeta,” I moan around the cotton of the pillow as I picture his arms and shoulders, flecked with lake water, flushed from a bubble bath. Flexing and working over me. Bracing my feet on the bed, I thrust my hips up frantically, trying to feel more of my hand, to make up for the thinness of my fingers where his are thick and calloused, and I imagine they’d be just enough to push me over the edge.

 

I clench as I feel my release just out of reach, so close, beckoning me forth with blue eyes flecked in green and soft words. I cry out again as the fire sparks to life behind my eyes, a flash of intense pleasure, my thighs clamping around my hand and the embers dancing through my limbs. I twist on the bed to escape the moan in my throat, but it escapes anyways. Deep. Ragged. Guttural. And full to the brim with acute longing.

 

As I lay there panting, tears slip from my eyes as what I have done hits me. Hard in the chest. Being run over by a car might be less painful than this.

 

************

 

I avoid them all.

 

After a shower, I utilize the many rooms of Effie’s house to avoid them until lunch is called and I can’t avoid them anymore. There’s an odd tension in the air as we eat. I can feel Peeta watching me, feel his questions, wondering what happened to make me freeze him out without warning. How do I tell him the truth?

 

I don’t know, so I uselessly stay silent.

 

During the second course, a delicious strawberry and pecan salad, Effie finally breaks.

 

“Well I don’t know what has happened between you two, but I can smell when there’s relationship trouble brewing.”

 

“Effie,” my mother warns, but I glare at my Aunt, all of my frustrations over losing my job and whatever it is I have with Peeta teetering on some unknown edge, I lash out at her.

 

“Butt out of it, Effie,” I snarl and she gasps.

 

“There’s no need to take it out on me,” she says testily. Then she turns to Peeta. “Now dahling, sometimes the best way to deal with--”

 

“I said butt out!” I screech and the legs of my chair echo the noise as I stand and fling my fork down.

 

“Katniss,” Peeta says placatingly, his hand landing on my arm as Effie blusters.

 

“Well I never!”

 

“I’m pregnant!” Prim shouts and then covers her face with her hands. In the deafening silence that follows, we all stare at her and Rory. He grins foolishly and shrugs.

 

“Well she is,” he states and then happily takes another bite of salad. “I told her we should just tell everyone this weekend, but she was worried about the effect of the announcement.”

 

“Oh my god, this is a nightmare,” Prim groans, and Rory sets his fork down to turn to her. He rubs his hand over her spine and whispers into her ear so none of us can hear what he’s saying. Rapt, I watch as my sister relaxes, straightens her shoulders and looks happily around the table.

 

“I’m three months pregnant,” she repeats, and this time, my mother and Effie squeal happily, rushing over to hug her. Then Effie scolds Rory, but he brushes it off. Peeta offers congrats as I sink back in my chair. It takes a nudge from Peeta to get me to move to hug my sister. When I do, she holds me tight.

 

“You’re not mad are you?” she asks with a tremor in her voice. “It’s sooner than we planned, but I’m happy.”

 

“Then I’m happy for you,” I say as I kiss her temple. 

 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and I know she’s not talking about the pregnancy. 

 

“I’m sorry, too, Little Duck,” I tell her. She squeaks in laughter and sniffles, wiping her nose as we pull back and Effie has already moved on to planning baby showers and the whole works, my outburst forgotten.

 

“You’re gonna take care of them, right?” I say as I turn to Rory, and he grins.

 

“Of course. I’m besotted with them both,” he tells me with a goofy grin. “Besides, if I didn’t, I’m pretty sure I’d wake up with an arrow somewhere vital.”

 

“Or not wake up at all,” Peeta jokes as he and Rory embrace. They talk excitedly as the room recedes from me, and all I can think is…

 

My family…

 

************

 

“We should tell them the truth,” Peeta says as he zips up his bag and I pluck at the comforter. My bag is already packed. “With the baby on the way, Effie will be occupied. And there’s no reason to keep up the act with your family.”

 

“Yeah,” I say, despondent since the happy lunch party disbanded. I feel drained and not at all like myself. Replaced with some strange mutation of the person I once was. Now who’s being dramatic?

 

“So,” Peeta says and holds out his hand to help me off the bed. “We’ll do it together, okay? It won’t be that bad, I promise you.”

 

“Right, together,” I say and place my hand in his. Warmth unfurls from where we touch. A shifting, glowing hunger that flickers and undulates through me. I glance up at him and the sadness I see in his eyes tears at me. What is he thinking? For the first time, I can’t tell, and I don’t know if it’s because this charade has driven us apart or if it’s because my own stupidity has made me blind.

 

We stand in the room with the curtains billowing and the light fading. Neither one of us makes a move. Our hands still joined between us. I am drawn to him, though. A moth to the light, and eventually, I can no longer bow to the dictates of my common sense. I stand on my toes and press my lips to his.

 

Peeta inhales sharply, but doesn’t move. Doesn’t push me away. When my calves start to ache, I lower myself back down, the heat of his lips still warming mine.

 

“Katniss,” he breathes my name in a soft caress. A welcome spring breeze after the long frigid winter.

 

His free hand shoots up and cups the back of my neck, pulling me back towards him, and I smile in the instant before his lips touch mine. But they don’t. Peeta stops himself on the brink of kissing me. He’s struggling to breathe, I can hear the rasp in his lungs. Feel the brush of his nose and his lips and his exhales. Even his curls against my forehead.

 

“I thought it was just an act,” he whispers.

 

“It’s not,” I tell him. “It’s real to me.”

 

I surge forward with my eyes shut, expecting him to reject me, but he groans and grips the back of my neck tighter, holding me to him as his other hand frees itself of mine to help hold us together instead as we kiss. Lips moving in a slow dance and then the brief swipe of tongue accompanied with an opening of mouths and a flurry of sounds. 

 

Somewhere in the melody of our kisses, we sink back onto the bed as troublesome clothes are pushed aside, igniting a crescendo of moans and a chorus of breathy sighs. And still I crave. I need more, begging him in whimpers that sound nothing and everything like me to keep going.

 

Peeta curses, but eagerly does as I ask, and as I cling to his shoulders, our bodies entwined, enraptured, I stifle the sounds I make in his flexing muscles, cradle and welcome his body with mine until we both climax with names and awe on our tongues. 

 

His body shudders over mine as the realization of what I’ve done settles in my middle. And does somersaults of joy. He’s still panting and shaking with tremors as he props himself on his elbows, brushing my sweat-dampened hair off my forehead to rest his against mine and look deeply in my eyes.

 

“Real for me, too, Katniss,” he whispers, the words stuttering around his uneven breaths. My eyes sting with tears. Then he kisses me again, our promise to come clean to my family forgotten.

 

They can wait.


End file.
